


Freawaru's Lament

by ellen_fremedon



Category: Beowulf - Fandom
Genre: Anglo-Saxon, Gen, Poetry, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2004, recipient:Martha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-25
Updated: 2004-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-02 13:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellen_fremedon/pseuds/ellen_fremedon





	Freawaru's Lament

Appendix B: Related Works: Freawaru's Lament

Though never named, this poem's speaker is clearly Freawaru, daughter of Hrothgar and wife of Ingeld, whose situation parallels that of Hildiburh in the Finnsburg fragment. The work's date and provenance have proven as difficult to pin down as _Beowulf's_ (see Appendix A.) Scholars are in general agreement that the Freawaru poet was familiar with _Beowulf_, or at the very least with its immediate sources; the "Lament" borrows considerably from the longer poem, not only in details of history and nomenclature, but in imagery and word choice as well. Attempts to identify the poem's authorship more clearly-- either to attribute it to the _Beowulf_ poet, or to dissociate it from him-- have been universally inconclusive.

 

Wretched the woman     who wakes alone,

And on the sea-cliffs     from sun's rise

Till the deep waters     drown its light

Watches the ship-road    and the shore beyond

For men returning     from the raven's feast,

The field of the slain     far over the waves,

From fire and slaughter    to the sheltering hall

Coming safe home--     sons and their father,

Her own dear lord     from Denmark returning.

But no track crosses     the tide-rocked waves,

No sight of sail     sped by the wind

To the haven coming,     and the high hall.

Ill go the days     instead for the lady-

Smoke rises     from the smoldering hall

A dark wake     through the welling clouds--

Birds follow that track     like fish that leap

In the shimmering paths     of sharp-prowed ships,

But hither no ravens come--     to the heavens only

They fly, and between us     the flood is still,

The sea is pathless;     I shall not see them more.

Glad was I, in days past,     to be given in marriage

To my lord and friend,     Froda's son,

Ingeld the Heathobard,     but heart-sore now

I long for my kinsmen     and my lost maidenhood.

For my lord's house     I left my father's

At fifteen, as a pledge     of peace between them.

I sealed our kinship,     sons I bore him,

In his hall, in his bed     were the best of joys.

Sorrowful the woman     whose sons with their kinsmen

No kinship honor,     who come with battle

To walls that guarded her,     a maid growing up,

To doors that now keep     those dearest her apart!

Well I remember     that renowned hall,

Horn-gabled Heorot,     high roofs that rang

With voices singing;     the shield-hung walls

Gleamed with firelight,     filled with song.

There I saw Beowulf,     the son of Ecgtheow

Who in later years     was lord of the Geats,

Keenest of champions.     When killing beset us,

When the mere-dweller     with murder assailed us,

Ecgtheow's son     came south over sea,

Eager for the fight,     to my father's help.

No shield he bore     when he bested the foe,

Nor drew no lordly     light of battle,

No gold-wound sword     with shining edge--

The hero needed only     his hands' own strength.

Well-worked gold     was the warrior's reward,

Lordly tributes     and lasting fame.

One gift he gave us:     Grendel's death.

What bliss for the Danes     when that battle was won.

What joy in wine--     well I remember!--

In gold ring-gifts     and the glee of the harp.

We ran to make ready     the ruined hall,

When the news spread     that our sorrow had passed.

The bloodied doors     on their broken hinges

Were laid open to the people     of the land of Scyld,

To noble and earl     and old companions,

Gold-friends and warriors,     and good men all.

Weapon-bearers, spearmen,     with their women came,

Herdsmen from the hills,     from the harbor, the sailors--

All came who heard tidings,     or the token saw,

The arm of the monster     to all eyes shown.

The fairest webs we hung,     fires we kindled,

Brim-full I filled     the fretted cup,

And deep they drank--     the Danes, the Geats,

Hrethric and Hrothmund     and Hrothgar my father.

Then light-footed I tread     the floor of the hall

To bear the honeyed cup     to the hero himself,

To bring mead to the man     by the Maker most blessed.

No gold I gave him,     but the gift of bees,

Bright mead from my cup     Beowulf drank.

Loud dinned the hall,     long the men feasted;

The terror gone,     they gathered in joy.

None could know     that the nicor-wife,

Cruel wolf of the water     watched the hall;

Nor did that man know     when mead I poured for him,

That ere two suns had set     he must seek a new foe

Over rime-cold fen     follow her tracks,

Her dreadful spoor,     spilled blood-drops.

Alone that one lived,     lonely and wretched,

In the mere's mirk     mourning her child

(And whether she missed     some man as well,

A night-companion,     none can say.)

To her pool he pursued her,     pressed by need

Over flood and fold     his feud drove him

To her secret home     in the stream's deep bed,

To the guarded lake-floor     of Grendel's mother.

But her hidden lair     little availed her;

Nor did chill water     ward her from death.

Then blood-dreared banners     and broken doors,

Hinge and lintel     were made level and whole,

On the floors, new color,     and cladding of gold

Was laid on the beams     and the bright gables.

Far over the land     with light it shone,

Most glorious Heorot.     Its gleaming roof

Alone of its adornments     was ever unfallen,

Nor scathed in the slaughters     of the shadow-dwellers.

Fear the foes brought     but fire never.

Now over the sounding sea     the smoke is high,

And the horn-crowned roofs     from the heavens fall,

Crumble to gledes     and glowing embers.

They have done it, my kin,     what Cain's lineage,

The fearsome nicors     could never do:

Burned the bench-floor     with bale and flame,

Burned Heorot, wall     and bower and roof.

From across the water,     I watch the shore,

I wait for my children     who worked this ruin.

But by the cold sea-road     will they come no more--

Smoke treads a path,     a pyre-road,

On the ravens' shore,     and to my sea-girt home

Comes no man to seek me     who mothered my sons,

Who bore the burners,     the banes of the Scyldings.


End file.
